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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27313942">Chocolate Bubblegum</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Estefany/pseuds/Estefany'>Estefany</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Dispite everything, we are family [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Best Friends, Developing Relationship, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Fluff without Plot, Friends to Lovers, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Sex, Long Shot, Love Confessions, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Not Beta Read, Out of Character, Platonic Relationships, Self-Doubt, Third Wheels, We Die Like Men</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 20:54:36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,272</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27313942</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Estefany/pseuds/Estefany</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The Host is very tired of the flirty back and forth of the head egos of the corp</p><p>Dark is very gay and oblivious to Wilford's intentions </p><p>Wilford is very gay and desparate to get noticed by Dark</p><p>This should be fun</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Damien | The Mayor/Wilford Warfstache | William J. Barnum | The Colonel, darkstache</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Dispite everything, we are family [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2008318</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>30</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Chocolate Bubblegum</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I promise this used to have an actual plot-<br/>Also this is probably the closest I'll ever get to writing smut, I tried my best</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The Host has always been thankful for his abilities. When losing his eyes, the 4th wall became the his main form of vision, his 'Sight'. Sure, it'd never be like having eyes, given how he couldn't fully process his sorroundings because it was just too much information, and his reality manipulation was pretty much useless without a willing victim, but still was good enough for him to not need a cane or any kind of help (although that wouldn't stop Edward and Google from constantly checking on him and bother him to take more care of himself) (not like he minded) (that much at least) </p><p>That being said, being constantly aware of everything and everyone was... Annoying, at best. Hurtful at worst. He didn't get to choose what to hear and see and what not, it was an all or nothing bet that he played every time he moved, since waking up until going to bed. Narrating the explotion of information like he'd do with his books helped a lot, but never shook the headaches and stress away, nor let him go an hour without hidden exhaustion. There was always something happening. Someone fighting. Someone dying. Always something bad that ruined his day. </p><p>Today, that something was realizing that Darkiplier wasn't just being an edgy moron with Wilford, but was, in fact, legitimately clueless at his attempts of flirting. Or more like the true intention behind them.</p><p>Everyone was already leaving the building, as it was almost night. The Host was sitting on an arm chair of the lobby, taking his papers to put them in his suitcase while Darkiplier and Wilford were still talking about the matters that remained unfinished on the meeting of that morning, on the sofa at his side</p><p>"Aye? What do you think?"</p><p>"Alright, you can try it"</p><p>"Really? Thanks!"</p><p>"Yeah, yeah, you're welcome, <em>bubblegum</em>" he rolled his eyes</p><p>The Host left a giggle at that. 'Bubblegum' had started as a passive aggressive mockery to Wilford, given his pink aesthetic, 'bubbly' personality and, mainly, because he was attached to Dark at the hip even when he tried to get rid of him. Dark seemed to be on a rather good (?) mood (Mark had been tortured by his friends on a bathtub that day so probably that had something to do) and with just an annoyed groan he snapped at Wilford, comparing him to a chew gum on his shoe. But the reporter liked it a little more than they expected, and soon the bitter glances and sarcastic venom that accompanied the term were replaced with hidden smiles and playful rolling of eyes from both parties. This was the first and only known time Dark has given anyone a nickname.</p><p>Out of nowhere, Wilford took a step back with a dramatic gasp as he put his hands on his hair</p><p>"Oh dear! How didn't I realize it before? This is terrible!"</p><p>"What's wrong?"</p><p>"I don't have a nickname for you!"</p><p>"Oh... Yeah, guess you don't. I didn't notice" shrugged like he hadn't been hyperawere at the fact that he had called everyone some cute name at least once. Nothing permanent like bubblegum, sure, but if he knew you for more than a week chances are he'd call by anything but your name about a 40% of the time. That was the case with everyone but Dark. No big deal. Who kept track of that? Not him. </p><p>"Now I have to give you one!"</p><p>"Wilford, no-" the demon got dragged up </p><p>"Wilford yes!" he looked at his boss like a critic to a piece of art, walking circles around him with a puzzled expression, a hand on his hip and the other on his chin "Hm, let's see: Black, white, bitter, tasty-"</p><p>"Hey"</p><p>"I know, I know, sorry..." he shaked his hand to shurg it off, still staring deeply into him, going from down to up and side to side, measuring with a metric tape he took from who knows where as Dark pretented to try to stop him. Still mumbling to himself, he stood straight <strike>(ha! as if)</strike> up again and... His body had to Windows reset as all the attention was know only dedicated with unknown passion to the red and blue wavering irises that seemed to stare into his soul through his own brown ones, as if also doing a more subtle, and much more interesting analysis of himself. If looks could talk, the both of them could give enough novels that The Host wouldn't have to write one the rest of his days. Then, Wilford snapped his fingers, calling the monochromatic's attention "Got it! Chocolate" he pointed a finger gun at him with a grin</p><p>"... Wil, I appreciate you, I really do, but you are <em>not</em> calling me that"</p><p>"But you call me bubblegum! Is only fair!" Dark opened and closed his mouth various times to protest, but only halfway mumbles came out "I promise I won't do it on company and legal stuff" Dark really, <em>really</em> didn't want to look him in the eye again. He didn't want to get lost again in that universe of madness and mystery, or to be fooled by those cute puppy eyes he never quite realized the effectiveness of. He wanted to ignore the pleading smile tickling his- oh for fucks sake, who was he fooling? (<strike><em>'Not me, man'</em></strike> ) </p><p>"Alright" at this Wilford made the sound of a squeaking toy and Dark turned to aside, throwing his suitcase on his shoulder as an excuse to hide his grin. Wilford looked like a child in a candy store and his damn smile was the only thing he could think about. Knowing that he had been, to an extent, the reason of it, filled him with an emotion he'd thought long lost. If only... No. He had to take his head off the clouds. He couldn't do this to himself, not again <strike><em>('again?!')</em></strike>. Wilford was already on the door, waiting for him. </p><p>"C'mon Chocolate! Danm, So much sugar talk made want some" maybe it was the lighting, but his cheeks looked like a new shade of pink on his . "Do you have some, Chocolate?" </p><p>"Don't get so cocky. And you always have chocolate in your office, I bet it's still all over the desk" </p><p>"What can I say? Y'know I love it" </p><p>Dark exhaled through the nose, the closest thing he'd ever do to a laugh. </p><p>That's it</p><p>That's all he did</p><p>If the Host still had eyes, they would have fallen out of their sockets at that very moment. He said it. He just said with his own will and didn't see the connection. It wasn't denial, it wasn't rejection, it was no fake dismiss, it was pure and innocent ignorance from Dark of what Wilford truly meant. This top tier manipulator who had gotten Derek to accept to leave Eric in his home one night without realising that'd be the ego's new home couldn't read the room</p><p>Dark gave the Host a puzzled look before following Wilford and closing the door behind him. Finally alone, The Host finshied packing his things, ready to think about the thousand ways to approach this as he got out</p><hr/><p>The cool winds of the star filled night were starting make effect as they stepped outside the building, messing their hair and sending to hell all the time Dark put on making his suit (which wasn't that much but still annoyed him). Surprising both of them, the one to shiver and rub his arms for warmth on instinct was the soul amalgamation ego</p><p>"Are you ok?" asked the reporter half joking.</p><p>"Yes, I just... Expected it to be warmer" he left a sight and watched the white trail of hot air form and dissappear in front of him like he hadn't seen it a thousand times already. He wished he hadn't. </p><p>"Dear, is already November!" his face lighted up in realization, his mouth wide open "It might even snow!" his eyes now were shining with the idea of going with the Jims on a field job and throw himself on the snow, play snow balls, hide a body under it, all that fun stuff! He was too busy on his own fantasy to notice Dark's gaze lowering, not quite looking at the pavemented dirty streets, but at that single pink flower that had survived the freeze on the forest </p><p>"I... I kinda really hate snow" whispered and turned around "Well, I guess we-" </p><p>"Oh, you do?" Wilford didn't get it wasn't for him "I thought you liked cold"</p><p>
  <em>'Yes, I like cold. I like that my AC is at 10 °C, and the wind on my skin giving me some sensation in this stolen body of still being alive. If this wasn't LA but one of those small towns in the middle of nowhere, this would be a perfect night to get some hot drink to take in the yard, stargazing and for once forgetting about everything but you and me. That'd be a beautiful cold night. But for fuck sake, I hate snow so, <strong>so</strong> much' </em>
</p><p>He wanted to say that. He wanted to say a lot. </p><p>"Wow" both blushed at the realization. Damn, why did Wilford always have to do the 4th wall thing on the worst moments? "Well in that case-" </p><p>"What are you-..."</p><p>"-What about we melt it away?" Dark couldn't tell when the other moved, but know he had two maybe a little too clingy armas around his waist, Wilford's chin resting on his chest. His attempts of squirming out of the hug were futile (was he trying at all?). His complaints were shut down by a much more intriguing question</p><p>"I can't-..." His complaints were shut down by a much more intriguing question "How are you so... Warm?"</p><p>"Is a gift" the moustached ego shrugged. Dark wouldn't be surprised if he could change his body heat at will, that would explain how he's always wearing that cute stupid outfit "You could say you're hot chocolate now? Well, you're already hot anyway" </p><p>"You..." he sighed with faux frustration "Thanks, bubblegum. Hey, would you..." Nope. Don't. What kind of asshole would you be if you do that? </p><p>"What?"</p><p>"Nothing, I forgot what I was going to say"</p><p>"Liar"</p><p>"... I was going to ask you to come with me to the mannor, I'm sorry-"</p><p>"Oh, it'd be a pleasure!" </p><p>He glitched in surprise "What?"</p><p>"Sure, it still gives me... Creeps" the way his voice dropped made the twin souls twist in pain "but I'll be with you, so how bad could it be?" and again with that godforsaken smile, the only thing that was right in this hell of an Earth. To see him talk like that, smile like that, about the mannor that took everything from them, where he lived only because he couldn't leave... Wilford was mad. And more so was he. </p><p>"Alright, let's go"</p><hr/><p>The Host decided to take advantage of being one of the three people who could enter to Dark's office without knocking first, opening the door with no warning, which startled. </p><p>"Hello? Do you need something?"</p><p>"The Host explains that there's only something he desires to ask"</p><p>"Which would be...?"</p><p>"What is Darkiplier's relationship with Wilford. And requests him to not try to get brushed up as 'the same as with the other egos', even Google knows you're more than that" Dark cleaned his throat, thinking carefully his words as his plan A had been taken out</p><p>"We have been friends for a while, way before the corporation, before we even knew there were other egos or what an 'ego' was. We've been through some tough shit together. So yes, I appreciate him a lot"</p><p>"Just 'appreciate' him?"</p><p>"I don't know what you mean by that tone"</p><p>"Oh, but Darkiplier knows <em>exactly</em> what The Host meant"</p><p>"... Did you really come to my office to suggest that I want something romantic with Will?" he pushed himself up, his hands on the table as he gave a death glare to his frie- er- acquaintance </p><p>"No. 'Suggest' would indicate that there's a chance of mistaking. The Host <em>knows</em> there's something going on"</p><p>He dragged a hand through his face "I'm not letting you alone with Bing again"</p><p>"Just answer" The Host wasn't going to let him go so easy, both knew that. He swallowed hard. </p><p>"Alright, let's assume, only for the sake of argument, that you're right. What's your point?"</p><p>"Will you do something about it? Because Wilford isn't really being subtle"</p><p>"Pfft, when is he"</p><p>"... Dear Lord"</p><p>"What?"</p><p>"The Host is still in shock after realizing, once again, that the being has cero acknowledgement of the other's intentions"</p><p>"Are you talking about the flirting and hugs? Because sorry to break it to you, but he does that to everyone"</p><p>"Does Wilford accompany the others to their homes?" Red and blue giltches appeared in Dark's cheeks, albeit just for a quick second</p><p>"Y-you saw that?"</p><p>"It was by pure accident, honestly. The Host was heading out of the building when he saw the other two chatting in the snow and, well, his Sight told him everything"</p><p>"Before you think anything, he didn't even go inside"</p><p>"The Host believes him" he started to walk around the office, as if admiring the old styled decoration, as if he could see the antique cane resting on a corner, or the black veil hanging on the bookshelf "He doesn't believe, however, that Wilford wouldn't use his 4th wall breaking to skip ahead to the mannor if it wasn't because he wanted to spend more time with Darkiplier" Dark was about to bark back, to found out he had nothing. He was speechless. Flashes of mondane moments he'd spent with Wilford, on witch he had never thought about, were now clouding his mind like a old VHS tape, all playing at once without control. </p><p>Painfully slow, he sat again on his chair, elbows on the desk, his hands interlaced in a fist between his eyes. He felt... Stupid. Even then, something else was stopping him to both dismiss The Host and talk to Wilford. Something that he didn't recognise, that he <em>refused</em> to recognise. </p><p>The Host, now standing at his right, stopped on his tracks, his head tilted to a side while facing the great window behind the chair "... Darkiplier knows that he can let himself have something nice for once, right?"</p><p>"I don't get what you're saying"</p><p>"Darkiplier would have done something by now, if there was nothing stopping him. The Host can't quite pinpoint what that is, but he can assure him, that there's nothing to be anxious about" he gave him a reassuring smile. The demon rested his shin on his palm, which covered the way his lips twisted upwards, and looked at him with the corner of his eye. </p><p>"Thanks, Host. But, as I said before, we have quite a history, is not that simple. What else do you want me to do?" talked more to himself than Host</p><p>"Anything. The Host... The host just wants one of the few people he can call a 'friend' to be happy" with that, and some mumbled narration, he headed out. </p><hr/><p>After the Host's visit, everything seemed to be going well in Ego Crop. Bim was happy of finally having his own little segment on the Markiplier TV, the Jims got some great news, Google was having (by some miracle) a civilized conversation with Bing. Overall, the was quiet. Too quiet. </p><p>Then the shots came</p><p>Hearing gunshots from the studio wasn't uncommon, especially on Wilford's shift. But when instead of the isolated two or three 'bang!'s, it sounded like a Tommy machine gun, a Bazooka and one (1) bomb, he couldn't just let that slide. His aura twirling with anxiety in spite of of blank expression, he bursted into the place, all filled with static for a second. </p><p>"Wil, what did you- Oh, Jesus... " there was red everywhere. <em>Everywhere</em>. The chairs, the floor, the cameras, even the ceiling were all covered in dark crimson blood and sparkled with the black gun powder like glitter. This included Wilford, who was standing in front of his chair, putting his gun back in his back pocket, not caring about the mutilated corpse on the other chair. He only acknowledged the whole situation once he noticed Dark was in the room, glitching way more than normal </p><p>"Oh, hi there! Sorry about the mess. He was so rude, he took a gun out just for asking about his wife!"</p><p>"Will, the blood..." he was trying his best to fake calm</p><p>"Yeah, I might have gone a little over board, but he looked for it!"</p><p>"Please tell me it's all his"</p><p>"Well, he almost got me in the shoulder," he pointed to the blood stain, which seemed a little too soaked for all to be from outside the shirt "but it's just a scratch"</p><p>"Take it off"</p><p>"W-what?"</p><p>"The shirt. Take it off"</p><p>"Wow, tiger, ask me for a drink first" he purred</p><p>"I'm serious, Wil. The last time you said 'it's just a scratch' you died of internal bleeding (and don't you dare saying that 'that's where blood's sopoused to be' again). I need to make sure I don't have to call Iplier"</p><p>"Alright, alright, geez" he'd never wrap his head around why Dark always got so worried about him. It's not like he could die, or at least stay dead. Whatever, he didn't really mind having someone who cared about him. So, rolling his eyes, he took off the suspenders and shirt.</p><p>Indeed, there was a bullet stuck in his left shoulder. The monochrome being scolded him with a 'I-told-you-so' look, to which he only turned the other way with a nervous smile, and the blood rushing to his face didn't help the injury.</p><p>This would have worried Dark had it been one of the more human like egos, but his <strike><em><strong>platonic</strong></em></strike> love for the reporter didn't cloud the fact that both of them were everything but normal humans. So with a sigh, he put a glitching hand on the wound, getting healed between 4th wall tomfuckery and demonic soul magic.</p><p>Dark looked back at him, with the intention of complaining about how he destroyed the place, how he wasn't getting paid until the next month, that... Without noticing, they were losing themselves in the other again. Scenes that never occurred (but wished they had) played in their minds, in their eyes, in their aching hearts. Memories of when life made sense suffocated them, a reminder of a world that had been taken- no, ripped away from them, leaving nothing. Except for only one thing, the one they were staring at. And dispite how ridiculous this whole situation was, they'd never felt so... Human. A lost humanity that made them lean to each other unsure of doing anything but refusing to step away. </p><p>
  <em>Fuck it</em>
</p><p>Without warning, Wilford took the other by the tie to pull him into a frenetic, desperate kiss. It wasn't a good kiss, in fact one of the worst the former player had ever given. It was dry and hard and bitted a little too hard on Dark's lower lip but goddammit it felt <em>so good</em> marely being able to give it. He didn't care if he got killed or Dark never spoke to him again, just getting that maddening desire out of his head for once and for all. The other had just got out of the shock when he pulled off, ready to say what had been hammering his mind for oh so long. </p><p>"Dark, I-" the taller ego cupped his face in his hands, a thumb carresing his cheek with all the care in the word. Then, as if wanting to teach him how to do it properly, he leaned down to him, joining their lips. This time, a proper, sweeter kiss that made melt tnto each other, that just when it was starting to get more exciting, they pulled off, left asking for much more</p><p>"I love you, dumbass"</p><p>"I love you, too" with that, he grabbed him by the shirt, pushing him into his chair, following the unfinished kiss as he sat on his lap, both his hands rubbing the sides of the other. One of Dark's hands was holding the back of the reporter's neck, the other was grabbing his waist, squeezing it, pulling him closer as his hips busted into the air. When they pulled out of the kiss, Wilford having already unbuttoned the demon's shirt, they gave an accomplice look</p><p>They blocked all doors and turned off all cameras. This was their moment</p><hr/><p>Remember the <em>'Wilford didn't care if Dark never spoke to him again</em>' from earlier? Scratch that. He cared. He cared a <em>lot</em>. Any kind of physical punishment? He could handle that, chances are he had already done it to himself multiple times anyway. But the idea of never getting those soft red and blue irises with hidden sweetness, or his smooth voice sending him poisoned words, or never getting called 'bubblegum' again, all because of the heat of the moment... He'd rather relive the party at Markiplier Mannor.</p><p>Both of them teleported to Wilford's office, knowing that the Egos avoided getting close in case Wilford decided to shot them just because. The mostached ego was sitting as much as possible on his desk, mind too worried to let him worry about the coffee stained papers he was smaching by doing so. Darkiplier was resting his back on the wall contrary it, right at side of the door, his hair covering his eyes as he turned to a corner. His hands were fixing his suit and tie for the hundredth time, Wilford's were tucked in his pockets to keep them from doing something stupid. They didn't dare to look the other in the eye, or to look at all. The time went by both with hurtful slowness and unbelievable quickness. </p><p>Great, now he actually fucked up</p><p>"Uh, Damien?" he bit his lip. Maybe he could kinda fix it? "We can just ignore this, if you want. I won't tell anyone-"</p><p>"I meant it" his voice was low, but firm, echoing through the place, red and blue silhouettes vibrating furiously </p><p>"What?"</p><p>"What I said earlier, I meant it"</p><p>"Darling, you said a lot"</p><p>"And I meant every word" finally, <em>finally</em>, he turned to find him fixing his suspenders "God, William, don't make me say it again" those glitches... Was he blushing? His face was sporting the attemptoof a smile, obfuscated by an underlying sadness "I love you. I have for a while" </p><p>Drowned were sounds came from his mouth, suddenly having forgotten how talk for some moments "What do you mean 'for a while'?"</p><p>"Since it was only you and me" his smile turned into a nervous one. The Wilford's face turned into a red mess, his hands into trembling fists, a twitch on his eyes</p><p>"And you decide to tell me this just now? After hitting on you for years?!" he hitted Dark's arm (which, surprising both of them, actually hurt a bit) </p><p>"I didn't think you were serious"</p><p>"Are you fucking kidding me?!" his pout twisted unto a crazy smile "I love you, you bitter chocolate asshole!"</p><hr/><p>He stopped on his tracks</p><p>Dispite the lack of, Dark could feel the Host's eyes stuck on his back. He didn't have to turn around, or talk, or move, he already knew the exact stupid face of superiority that he was giving. His shit eating grin, arms crossed up his chest, one knowing eyebrow raised with confidence. He didn't feel like dealing with an 'I knew it' lecture, only got the energy to get out of the office because Wil had left his bow tie on the floor and had no idea where he was. But screw it, he'd just wait for him in his room.</p><p>Cracking his neck, he made a void to teleport, but right before dissappearing through it, the smooth voice with a singalong tone laughed "You're welcome~" as The Host walked away</p><p>God, he hated him so much. But wouldn't change him for the world. </p><p>Indeed, The Host <em>did</em> know what had happened, in spite of all their precautions. However, it wasn't just thanks to his Sight. No, as it was usual for him, it was because because he walked into the wrong place at the wrong time. About an hour before, he walked passed by the post effects office where Bim and the Jim's were looking at the recordings of that day</p><p>"Well, there gotta be something good in there! It's Wilford after all"</p><p>"I don't know, Bim"</p><p>"I'm with Jim here, there's a reason he asked us to erase it"</p><p>"Not you too, Jim!"</p><p>He leaned to know what they were discussing about and... Well, at least it seemed like Dark listened to him for once. </p><p>"The Host hates to disrupt your argument, but he highly recommends that you erase the video. And burn the tape"</p><p>"Oh, C'mon, man! You're the one always gossiping!"</p><p>"The Host denies that statement and assures Bim that if they see the video, Dark and Wilford will found out, and they won't take it nicely" the show host rolled his eyes with a defeated sigh</p><p>"Ugh, fine. It's probably nothing, anyway." with a flick of the wrist, he signaled Jim to press the 'ERASE' button. Once it was done, the characteristic grin returned to his face, as he clapped his hands together "Well, my boys, I did Bolognese, want some?"</p><p>"Yes! We're starving!" the Jim's said in unison</p><p>The Host smirked</p>
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